DEAD VEGAS part one:
by wastelandronan
Summary: a zombie/fallout crossover. nothing could be more hellish than a zombie apocalypse after a nuclear one right? it just seems a testament to humanities tenacity.


six peered through the scope of his gauss rifle at the shambling form 400 yards away.

"fucking wasteland's gone to hell" he muttered, then squeezed the trigger. a split-second later the undead's head burst like a ripe melon, spraying black congealed blood across the hot rocks of the mojave desert. six popped the spent cell and slapped a fresh one into the chamber with practiced ease then hunkered down to wait.

aproxamately 200 years ago the entire fucking world had burned in nuclear fire, scorching all but the hardiest life from the earth. and just as civilization began to rebuild itself, just as humanity began to reconstruct the shattered puzzle of it's existence the fucking NCR had to go and screw things up for everyone.

six winced a little at that thought. it had been partly his fault, selling the data he had found within vault 22 to that OSI scientist. the whole place had been fucking infected with weird mutations caused by plant-based spores that filled the vault. it also had some of the most vibrant plant life in the mojave: hence the NCR's interest, what with their farms and all. last he heard, they had found a way to reverse the dying proscess, rejuvinating dead or mutated plant matter using modified spores. was only a matter of time before somebody some-where fucked up big time, and the shit hit the fan.

six squeezed off another blast, obliterating another shuffler's torso. the thing collapsed in the dust, still gurgling and trying to crawl with legs that ended at the navel. it's mutated face twisted permanantly with the rictus of death. it opened it's mouth and let out a blood curdling shriek, filling the hot desert air with the sound of rage, pain, and...hunger. the cry was answered by another further out in the dustcloud, then another, and another, untill there was a caphony of screams and shrieks echoing off the rocks of scorpion gulch.

"goddamnit" he muttered through clenched teeth and stood up to change position. he slapped his desert ranger helmet back on and slung the heavy rifle, drawing instead a light m4 carbine with a custom stock, silencer, and EOTech holo-sight.

it only took a few weeks. a few weeks before practically the whole fucking wasteland became just that... a desolate landscape filled with shuffling corpses. so far as six knew there were only a few places holding out with any kind of success. Vegas, of course, and freeside, mostly due to the Mormon fort and the followers stationed there. last six had heard they were struggling to develop a vaccination. camp-mccaran was still hanging tough, and the legion perched up in their fucking fort. motherfuckers started using guns, breeding their slaves like cattle to repopulate their ranks. they were tough enough to make it through anything. goodsprings had taken refuge with NCRCF convicts inside the prison, and mojave outpost held the tide of nastiness from moving anyfurther into california. novac...was gone. so was forlorn hope. the great sharecropper farms was where the outbreak started so of course it was wiped out. 188 got smart, had enough time to fortify it's location before they could be overrun. and of course, there was the brotherhood of steel here in hidden valley. cut off from the outside and relatively untouchable within their powered armor.

a loud shriek from not 100 feet away cut six's thoughts short, and he dropped back down to a crouch. his desert ranger armor he had scavenged within the paradise canyon walls of zion had been a real godsend, but he still missed his old set of enclave armor the remnants had given him. he REALLY had not been counting on a fucking zombie apocalypse, and had thought the armor's lightness and durability were a decent trade-off for the bulky tankesque armor. another screech... closer.

six flicked on his EM vision optics, custom installed to replace the standard thermals these helmets were equipped with (bastards didn't give off any internal body-heat) and held as still as possible. there, just coming out from around a boulder was a hunter. mean bastards, fast and tough as a deathclaw, in fact it WAS a deathclaw, mutated and changed beyond recognition by the spore that plagued the wastes. the creatures that resulted from infection were similar in physiology to the ghost people of the sierra madre casino. those motherfuckers were tough to kill due to the fact that their organs weren't centralized and compartmentalized like most living beings, but more resembled plant matter. instead, their vital organs were spread throughout their bodys, quivering beneath the muscles and flesh, resulting in no easy 'kill shot.' so it was with the zombie freakshows now. however, they did have one weakness. the internal pressures and fluid balance that made this phenomena possible also resulted in explosive decompression when they lost an major appendage. essentially, if you could blow ther heads COMPLETELY off, they MIGHT die. or it might just make an annoying mess to clean up as you're being chased by a pissed off, headless corpse. naturally, the best way to solve this problem was with lots of explosives.

"shoulda brought my fucking tesla" six muttered as the hunter crawled closer. there was a faint but clear 'click' and a huge plume of dust and smoke erupted from beneath the hunter's talons and was followed by a meaty thwack as powder-propelled cap-shrapnel tore through the beast's many organs, riddling it with holes and blowing off 4 of it's six legs. it let out a hissing sound and flipped onto it's back, twitching and rolling in the bottle-cap mine wreckage and it's own guts during it's death throws. then it was still. six dived behind cover just in time to avoid being spattered with infectious mutagen as the creature exploded from the difference in outside and internal pressures. he stepped carefully over the twitching limbs and body-parts, still electrified with EM waves, as they would be for some time. six pressed a finger to a small button concealed on the antenna relay of his helmet.

"come in boone, it's me. we're packing up shop. and prime the tesla,"

"copy that" a male voice responded.

tesla cannons were the cleanest and most efficient way to kill the shufflers, as the resounding pulse wave created tended to disrupt any electromagnetic fields around it, thus effectively jamming the critter's internal signals and shutting the fuckers down for good.

six drew a small spray bottle and proceded to spray the area where he lay with wine vinegar to dispel any scent he may have left behind. then he sprayed the soles of his boots, tucked the bottle away, and headed off towards his rendezvous with boone, bouncing and ricocheting off the canyon rocks to limit the amount of scent he left behind. he slowed to a trot juts outside the chain-link fence near the road to black mountain, and stopped to wait for boone.

"took you long enough" a voice murmured from the cool shadows of the rocks near the gate. six snorted. boone had been a member of first recon, the elite NCR sharpshooter unit. should have figured he would beat him there.

"i wanted to be sure i wasn't followed. had some trouble with a hunter out by the brotherhoods bunker." boone stood up, cradling his 'elite' riot gear helmet in the crook of his elbow. on his head he wore his red 1'st recon beret. inside his 'elite' riot armor and trench-coat. he was quite an imposing figure, standing at nearly 6 feet tall and weighing at least 300 pounds with his gear. his eyes registered surprise.

"this far south? it's spreading faster..." he was silent. "means more target practice." six chuckled and patted his armored shoulder. nothing seemed to faze the grim-faced boone. the man looked death in the eye and called him a pussy.

"yeah, I bet gunrunners is having one hell of a hey-day. what with all the people here buying every scrap of ammo and fire-arm they produce." six stooped to retrieve his duffle of gear.

"where to now?" boone asked. six pondered the question and looked north.

"we're moving to the 188. see if anyone there could use a hand." boone slid his helmet back on.

"hoo-rah!"


End file.
